,(,' ,..-.... ' >: ' :: 1'. ill' / l-\" , 0",:"'<0 '" " ';, """ ',"""" ;- " :f F 't",'S J;:, ' ".' " ;; . I , :; , , " : J1:l, . G f " . , <> t.,, :,f:"' :'::-- ':,:.-:":, \, " ': 28 That's Fat Harry. He's fearless.'" Fat Harry grinned. "You're damn right I'm afraid. So is anyone, if he thinks about it. I don't think about it. But if the time comes, I'm prepared. See that?" He pointed to a kapok life jacket that hung in one corner of the room, by the metal wardrobe. "Bring it over here. I'll show you." Roger got the heavy life preserver, which was to be worn as a jacket and had a neckpiece like a horse collar. Sev- eral pieces of cord had been attached to the jacket by safety pins. To one cord Fat Harry had tied a package of ciga- rettes and a box of matches, to another a bar of chocolate, to the third a flash- light, to the fourth a half-pint bottle of water. All were encased in oilcloth, which was held in place with rubber bands. Fat Harry looked at this array and laughed. "When I go over the side, I'll he well heeled." He looked at Roger. " y , . d " · ou re not worrle , are you. "I'm down on the third deck. If a torpedo hit, I'd have trouble getting out." "I used to be down there. It's a chance you take." "If I could just stop thinking about it." "You'll get over it," Cecil said. He stopped directing his orchestra. "It up- set me at one time. But I got over it. You'll get over it, too. Not because you become brave or reconcile yqurself t ',:, ' :"'$" :.':q:. "?,,: ,,:,/i < , 'f' . ',-, .it;.. ' ;, : =-..' .:. "..:' .1:: " '?'11111 -.-\ R to the idea of a nasty death but simply because you'll become bored with being afraid. Night after night, always the threat of death. It gets to be damn bor- ing. I prefer Couperin." He turned the music up a little and waved his pen- cil-down, left, right, up. Now, with one hand, he motioned to the wood- winds in the front of the in visible or- chestra to come up, now to the çrass in the back rows to play more softly. "You get bored with fear and let something else absorb you. F or some men, their work aboard ship is enough. For me, it isn't. But then I have my music. F at Harry has food and drink. You'll find something." "More coffee? " Fat Harry asked, leaning over to refill his own cup. "N 0 thank you." Roger got up to leave. Cecil was putting on a new rec- ord. He smiled at Roger . "You'll get over it," he said. When Roger left, the phonograph was playing Mozart's Symphony No. 29, in A major. He went down the passageway, descended a ladder to the first deck, and then another ladder to the second deck. He felt a little better now. He was relieved to know that he wasn't the only one who was afraid. Just outside the wardroom smoking room was a closed hatch. Inside of it was a scuttle, a circular opening no larger than a porthole. He had an un- pleasant feeling every time he crawled rw;þ. < *.," ': , ,' '. + ' J Ä;b' < < .", , ), ':">;"'>:':': .ù", :-:W' -: .--: ." - A ' ""-- ,:' ' , ,,/ "}': ' 0ie'.- " ... ..J". :-'.-:/t'"...'" .." ".. ?:- K' ," , 'f-f ,....:. .;:;: """:::.'%-'"'-'....-. ,::'". ..: ";" t ;,;;:; 'l'lP : , " '% Wi ;iW b "+ ,, __',' ,' , ./. i ' , s' __"",/J .." "" .::" ..". .'J' '." -:-..::......:..:y.. , \::; ..ii i:> > ";, ':.:c: ;-':':::--::-:-- ' 'f '1""'- "1 may as well tell you right nOVJ--I hate smoking I" through one. He stared at it. It was like the opening to a tomb. Bracing himself, he lowered himself feet first through the scuttle and down still another ladder to the third deck. He was at the waterline. His bunk was a lower one in a double-tiered row along the bulkhead between the war- rant officers' mess and the junior offi- cers' bunk room. Most of the -bunks were filled, their occupants sleeping quietly. The only sound was the w hir- ring of the blowers. In spite of the blower,s, the air was bad down there. Roger walked to his bunk and then stood looking down the long, catacom b- like passageway. He could see and feel it now, almost as if it were happening: the terrific ex- plosion, the bulkhead giving way, the lurch as the ship rolled on her side, darkness, and the water coming in. He began to breathe in short, nervous jerks, as though he were suffocating. The sweat came out on his forehead. From his bunk he picked up his blanket and pillow. It was warn1 tonight. He had a good excuse. He walked on tiptoe to the foot of the ladder. There, his foot on the bottom rung, he waited. The reali7ation came - over him that some night he would have to begin sleeping below decks. There were other officers and hundreds of sailors who were doing it. Amidships, on both the third and fourth decks, he had seen the sailors sleeping in crowded racks, row upon row, their faces white and corpselike under the dim lamps. They were taking the same chance. He walked back and put the blanket and pillow on the bunk. Then he took off his untarnished cap, his life belt, his shoes, socks, black tie, khaki shirt and trousers, and crawled in. Lying there, tense and wide-awake, his forehead moist, he wondered how long it was likely to, be before he became bored with fear. -C. M. NEWMAN . 150. A little boy cut his toe while playing on the beach at the seashore. With the healing of the wound was associated cell multiplication. If there were 48 chro- mosomes in the cells of his mother's and father's toes, how many chromosomes were there in: (a) the multiplying cells of his wound; (b) his spermatogonia; (c) his mother's second ary oocytes; ( d) his father's spermatids; (e) each pronucleus of the zygote from which he developed? 7From a quiz book used in the General Zoology course at the University of Penn- sylvanza. Better also find out what he cut his toe on and pick it up.